Off to the Races
by Skelegirl
Summary: The Thalmor reception through the Ambassador's eyes. Slight slash.


Disclaimed! it's a bit bleh but i like it. Hope you enjoy!

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Elenwen never threw these parties for the sake of fun. To remind everyone that the Empire was at her beck and call; like Tulius, who was over in the corner, trying to get himself drunk. To allow the few nobles that pretended to like her to cozy up and serve them food and beverages until their lips loosened, letting out all sorts of secrets and gossip.

And If she'd paid a passing glance to her, the womer would pass for one of her servants. But strangely, this Bosmer, Dryope was on her guest list. It of course mattered, she was Arch Mage of that crumbling college in that rotting wasteland they called Winterhold. She had been thinking about sending another Justiciar, after the unfortunate accident that was Ancano.

She gently clenched her fists and leisurely made her way through the small crowd towards the Bosmer who just entered the door. Dryope looked a bit out of place here, in her ugly and uncomfortable clothing, with her shaved head that had the color red barely humming out of her scalp. Her very tall height made the clothing a bit too small on her. One could see the tan skin of her ankle. The most unsettling thing was that she just stood there, quietly admiring the floorboards, her long thin arms by her side.

The Bosmer's head snapped up sharply, her mouth slowly open just as Elenwen cut in, painfully polite. "Welcome. I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are...?"

Dryope's unsettling liquid eyes, the color of blood, stared into hers as she most likely was internally struggling for an answer. "I am Dryope, Arch Mage at the college of Winterhold. Pleased to meet you."

She smiled then, her thin lips stretching over small sharp teeth at the Ambassador. Her titles sounded like an award one would get at a school, compared to Elenwen's. It was suspicious also, as she didn't look like one who used magic. It usually left a strange feeling in the hands, and a mage's eyes would display the pain of forced knowledge. Elenwen knew this, as she was a mage herself.

The Bosmer held up a tanned hand towards the Ambassador (notably the wrong hand) to shake.

Catching the memo, she slipped her gloved hand into Dryope's and shook it politely, straining a slight smile. Even through her thick gloves, the guest's hand was warm and the nails s into the cloth. Gently she pulled her hand away, slipping out from the Bosmer's long fingers."Tell me, Dryope, what brings to this wa- Skyrim?"

The Bosmer fidgeted, as the servant Malborn, spoke up. "Madame Ambassador, I'm so sorry to interrupt-"

"What is it, Malborn?" Elenwen snapped, the wood elves painfully pathetic questions always got onto her nerves.

"It's just that we've run out of the Alto wine. Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia red..." He asked, voice wavering loudly. His hand paused on the rag that was currently shining the bar.

The Alto wine ran like water here. High unlikely.

"Of course. I've told you before not to bother me with such trifles!" Elenwen scolded, turning away from Artemis. She shot a chilling glance at Malborn. Her nerves and patience were already wearing thin. As much as she liked parties, they were stressful, especially with all the unique characters that came along, bristling at each other's presence.

The servant nodded quickly, and shuffled away into the storeroom for the blasted wine. Once the heavy door closed, Elenwen turned around, only to see the Bosmer gone.

She didn't care much anyway, but was a bit annoyed at how Artemis slipped away from her conversation. As if she didn't want to talk about her nobility. Elenwen brushed it off as Maven Black-Briar slid up to her, and engaged her in a round of passive-aggressive chit-chat. It was a polite verbal banter, sarcasm and sickly sweetness shimmered in Maven's tired eyes. The Altmer matched that in thin kindness and asking her if she needed for wine. Loose lips sink ships, or even empires.

It was the same game, different player when she talked with her guests. Balgruuf the greater would speak with a thin tone, fists balled and by his side as Elenwen arrogantly smiled at him. Razelan only when he caused a disruption and she didn't dare save a smile for him. Elisif, with her watery eyes and painful emotions that displayed blood on a white table cloth. Elenwen listened patiently at her unsure confidence, as she really didn't know what was going on in Skyrim.

But, Erikur she tended to avoid. He was one of the few actually good Nord businessmen, but his personality made her wonder how he gotten so rich. She detested him, almost as much as Razelan. It was good for her to keep an eye on him, as Erikur could become valuable in the future.

"-Get back here you slut!" Speaking of which, a red-faced Erikur huffed after a Bosmer servant, Brelas. Fear and annoyance was clear on the servant's face as her trembling fingers held onto the edges of the silver platter. The wine lapped against the lips of the chalices. The crowd of guests parted around the two of them, some resting a hand on a blade placed in their tunic and others just watching in amusement.

Erikur bounded after her, footsteps hardly muffled by the lush carpet, before yelling at Elenwen. A vein throbbed in his neck as he jerked his head at the shocked crowd, looking at their reactions. Reveling in the attention. "Elenwen! This serving girl has made the most disgusting advances at me."

The Ambassador tilted her head, wondering at her options. In any elf's right mind would actually creep their hand up Erikur's thigh? Could a slimy Nord even get harassed? Perhaps this was a taste of her own medicine. But, never the less, a little time in the dungeon with Rulindil would sort the embarrassing situation out.

"Is that so, Erikur?" The mocking humor in her tone was barely covered by emotionless. "and you with your delicate sensibilities."

With a wave of her long hand the guards that were lounging by the doorways came glinting in like gold statues. Their hands reste upon the gilded hilt of their maces, eyes stoically looking at Brelas.

"Is that so, Erikur? That must have been quite bothersome, with your delicate sensibilities. Take her to the dungeons, A little time spent with Rulindil will sort that behavior out." Elenwen said dismissively, and the guards seized Brelas by the arms and hoisted her away.

"Madame Ambassador, you don't know what he'll do to me, please!" The Bosmer servant begged, but said no more. She had the phrase "the guest is always right" beaten into her more then once. Elenwen remembered this, and almost pitied her.

Erikur's smug face was almost enough to send Brelas back, but the flute-player began on the note once again the same quiet chatter returned like a flock of birds. The flute player returned to playing the elven song, slipping back into it like the disrupting never occurred. This time, the Ambassador noted, it was a lot more hesitant as they just realized the extent of her power and command.

She turned her head away from the door, her flaxen hair brushing against the high points of her ears. And fell right into the look of Dryope. A chalice of red wine was settled between Dryope's long ringed fingers. Matching the red heat of her, almost betrayed glare. You knew what really happened, it seemed to say. Then the bald elf simply turned away into the crowd, but the red hue never left Elenwen's eyes.

Eventually they were called into the dining room, for the expensive foods that lay steaming on the carved stone table. Elenwen sat at the head of the table; Tulius to her left and Elisif to her right. The Bosmer reappeared, in her usual spaced-out stupor.

At the wave of Elenwen's hand, the dinner began. Dinner concoctions that were more usual to the Nords and Imperials spread out across the table, with a few added Aldmeri ingrediants of course. But nothing to bother their already bland palates. The gossip seemed to have not changed on the two minute trek to the dining hall, and it filled the air so thickly the Ambassador could have reached out with a gloved hand and read the lettering across her long fingers.

The guests were polite eaters, but in her culture it was barbaric that some (esp. Erikur) would eat with the wrong utensils, or sit the edges of the forks and knives of the plate. Everything was back a few centuries in Skyrim, Elenwen had to learn that.

She didn't direct the conversation, instead having a small conversation with Elisif about Imperial military forces, in which the Ambassador held her tongue much of the conversation. The next high queen was rather debatable on whose side she was really on, Elenwen mused. Perhaps she is only one of the Empire for personal interest. Most of the people at this table are interested in that.

"Attention everyone! Could I have your attention, please!" Invading her thoughts was a slightly drunken Erikur and a very drunk Razelan laughing loudly, clinking glasses filled to the brim to alcohol that she didn't allow. She would most likely be livid with either the servants that gave him the alcohol or the drunk himself, but the Redguard had done worse things. To the point where, she saw this harmless toast as a mild distraction from her real goal: allowing the group of party guests to cozy up.

He took a messy sip of his wine barely covering the sound of a vase being pushed over in another room. Elenwen cursed her newly recruited guards. Some of it spitted on Dryope's clothing, and she glared at him, corners of her tilted eyes hardening and creasing.

I have an announcement to make! I propose a toast to Elenwen! Our Mistress! I speak figuratively, of course. Nothing could be more unlikely than that someone would actually want her in their bed. Although... most of you are already in bed with her! But again..." Razelan broke off the sentence in a fit of laughter, drunkenly at the surprised look on Elenwen's face. "I speak figuratively, of course!"

Dryope tugged on his tunic, tanned face red as the wine staining her collar as she (almost humorously) murmured "You're making a fool of yourself."

Guards returned into the room and towered over Razelan's sitting form. Their armor, golden like in color, along with their stoic and scarred faces, gave them the appearance of cruel statues.

"It didn't seem to have to come to this. And you promised to behave." Elenwen cooed, sarcasm dripping from her tone as she spoke slowly, as if to a temperamental child. She was embarrassed, and had she been newer in her position she'd probably snap a vein in her head. But the Ambassador wasn't one to give those against her satisfaction. One had to deal with the slurs of madmen.

The guards hauled him out of his chair none-to-gently, splashing the wine on his trousers. Maven snickered enjoying his inability to explain. Dryope watched a surprised expression as much of the table did.

"Hey hey hey! I'll be a good little dog, leggo." Razelan angrily shrugged out the Thalmor guard grasp and sat down, his knees jolting painfully against the ornate stone table. The wine chalice was replaced with one that was of water, which he protested weakly, and confusedly drunk to fight with his inebriation. Maven smirked at him, before raising her own chalice to her lips, as Tulius let out a soft "harrumph", but continued talking to Jarl Balgruuf about siding completely siding with the empire (and to escape from Elenwen's smarmy looks).

After dinner the guests excused themselves, one by one, all thanking the host graciously. They shuffled out into the cold as if they were leaving a uncomfortably stuffed closet; the non-Nords cursing the horrific cold.

Jarl Balgruuf, Elisif, and Tulius were the first to leave, the latter giving her a shrug and a grunt as a farewell. Maven thanked her for the food and as she shook her hand far too roughly, with a painted smile. The rest were either too slow, or too not important for the Ambassador to remember their names.

Just as Elenwen thought Erikur was done trying to sell broken weaponry to the guards outside, the Bosmer reappeared, and rested beside her, watching the spectacle unfold in front of them. Every offer the Nord businessman tried to make with the guards, would be replied with "I'm not supposed to be talking to the guests" drawled out with a thick condescending accent.

The wind blew in the doorway as some of the virgin white snow, powdered around the carpet.

"Thank you for attending today." The Altmer turned, offered a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. She stuck out her right gloved hand, knowing that Bosmer were a tad more demonstrative with their emotions. "I trust that this is just the beginning of a long and mutually beneficial relationsh-"

"You knew that the servant wasn't trying to seduce Erikur right?" Dryope's forehead creased and her small mouth pinched together. Her eyes were unwavering however, and a chill made it's way up Elenwen's back.

"How could I have known? I was across the room, I only heard the shouting." The Ambassador answered cordially, the false smile falling from her thin lips. Her eyes refused to dart away from the Bosmer, and a certain competition was evident in them.

"I was near, you know. He asked me to ask her if she was interested in fucking him. When she said no, he got angry. It was disgusting to see him walk over there, even when I told him she wasn't interesed." the Bosmer pronounced the colorful word slowly, as if she was drawing the line at that.

"One has to conclude a disruption quickly, in moments like that. And honestly, who would believe a servant instead of a noble? Everyone in the room was certainly not stepping up for her. Not even Tullius, and he is the hero of the people, hm? That can easily tell one the difference between people." The Ambassador answered cooly, nodding to the guests boarding the carriages.

"The customer is always right." Dryope replied softly, eyes breaking from hers to study the ground before her. "but what if he was bothering one of the guests, would you send them to the dungeon too?"

Elenwen turned her head, surprised at the change in manner from the Bosmer. "What would happen is what happened to Razelan after he made that... toast. Guards would intervene. But I am sure you already know this. You are the Arch Mage of the only arcane college in Skyrim."

Dryope's audible breath caught in her throat and her eyes casted downward. "I don't usually hold that many receptions. I'm busy, you see. With organizing the classes and protecting the college from the Nords. Not blaming women for assaults."

"You're looking for a fight, but you are looking in the wrong direction." The Ambassador muttered her amber optics boring into the side of her face.

Dryope, gritted her molars loudly, hunching her bony shoulders and looked out into the dark. "It wasn't her fault."

"Oh, bringing that up again?" Elenwen replied, readjusting her footing and resting her hands on her pronounced hips. "do not shed a tear about it. Rulindil will most likely give her a talk and a night in the dungeon. Nothing drastic. This makes me believe he's soft for her."

Of course Rulindil wasn't soft. He was a interrogator and torturer. Not as good as she was at making them talk, as he usually accidentally disposed of the prisoners. But most importantly, he was an older generation then the servant Brelas, and didn't care well to whores. Despite the fact he raped and pillaged as much of the other soldiers in the war.

She'd have to intervene as soon as the last guests left.

"Thank you. It comforts me hearing that, I think." Dryope said, a weak smile on her face. She took Elenwen's hand into her two own and shook quickly. "thank you also for the invitation. It's nice to be noticed."

The Ambassador nodded, before quickly drawing her hand away. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself- Apart from those unfortunate disruptions."

The guest quickly skirted down the iced steps, snow powdering her scalp and inside her collar. She tugged harshly at where the thick fabric of the hideous dress coat bunched underside her arm. She stopped at the foot of the stairs, before turning and grinning. "You know, Razelan is wrong about you. You didn't at least even try to sleep with me."

"Razelan is wrong about many, many things." Elenwen answered as her arms crossed over her chest. The wind blew her light hair into her face, the cold strands brushing against her eyelashes.

"Oh, your majesty arrives! Damn it, it's been two hours and you decide to be late." A driver muttered as Dryope sat on the col wooden slat, flicking the reins on his horse to hurry down the steps.


End file.
